Free Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 by Victoria Murata Page B

rose and fell under the blanket. “Well, let me tell you about them. They can be very tricky, and it’s best to always be on your guard.” Mrs. Mueller’s body shivered, but otherwise made no acknowledgment. “And did you know that they are angels? Well, not the best of the angels, but not as guilty as some.” Brenna spent the next half hour telling the tales of the Good People and recounting true stories of people she knew who had had encounters with the wee folk.
    “I have it on good authority that I shall meet them some day, and when I do, I can ask them for some of their gold. If I don’t let them out of my sight, they will lead me to it. Then I will be rich for the rest of my days!” She imagined she saw a slight smile on Mrs. Mueller’s face.
    Brenna opened the pocket watch and checked the time. She then dutifully administered the next dose of aconite. Mrs. Mueller swallowed it but didn’t open her eyes.
    Brenna looked around at the contents of the wagon. Everything was organized and carefully put up. She noticed a leather folder open to a daguerreotype of a handsome young woman with light hair sitting in a stuffed chair. The woman wore a stylish hat and dress. This must be Greta , she thought. She saw a well-worn book entitled Kinder-und Hausmarchen by the Brothers Grimm and took it from the shelf. She opened it to the table of contents and looked at the list of stories—eighty-six total, but she couldn’t read the German text. She entertained herself for the rest of the hour by looking at the illustrations throughout the book. Soon she saw an illustration of a little girl wearing a cap and talking to a very large wolf. This must be the Little Red Cap story , she thought. A noise outside the wagon caught her attention, and she looked up to see her father peering in.
    “Da! You startled me!”
    “How is she doing?”
    “No change, except that she might be resting a little easier.” Brenna opened the pocket watch. “It’s time for her third dose of aconite.” Brenna carefully measured a drop of the liquid into the tin cup containing a small amount of water. She lifted Mrs. Mueller’s head and held the cup to her parched lips. She slowly poured the contents into her mouth, and Mrs. Mueller swallowed. Brenna poured more water into the cup, and Mrs. Mueller drank again. “I think she’s thirsty, Da.”
    “Give her as much as she will drink. The fever is drawing the fluids out of her.”
    After another drink, Brenna carefully laid Mrs. Mueller back against the pillow and made sure she was comfortable.
    “You’re a good nurse.” Her father looked askance at Brenna and frowned slightly. “Brenna, we all know that you’re doing everything you can for her.” He paused, and Brenna knew what he was thinking.
    “Why did Grandmother die, Da?” she asked.
    Michael Flannigan looked at his daughter, and then he looked at the ground. He sighed deeply. “Everyone who was old or very young died, Brenna. There wasn’t enough food in Ireland to nourish people, so only the strongest survived. Your grandmother had been weak, and the last fever was too much for her.”
    “Did she have cholera?”
    “No, no she didn’t have cholera, although many people did.”
    “Do you know what Father O’Brien told me, Da? He said that when death comes, it will not go away empty.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard that before.”
    “I saw Grandmother tonight,” Brenna blurted out.
    Michael studied his daughter and said gently, “Did you now?”
    “Yes, I’m sure of it. I was looking for Mrs. Mueller, and right before I found her, I saw Grandmother. She led me to Mrs. Mueller, Da.” She looked beseechingly at her father. “Do you believe me?”
    “Aye, I truly do.”
    “Sometimes I feel like Grandmother is so close to me. I miss her so much!”
    “I know you do, Brenna.” Michael sighed again. “This trip has been hard on folks. Mrs. Mueller is old, and she may not have the strength to…” Brenna put her finger to her